


Inhibitions

by FlamingInk



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingInk/pseuds/FlamingInk
Summary: Of course, having lived her life fairly narcissistically, putting her own needs first, finding a situation wherein she felt the need to put someone else before herself had been causing her much conflict. It seemed to go against her own configurations of her own identity  – not that she felt she was an uncaring or uncompassionate person. Anne felt she was a woman who held herself in good, healthy esteem and as such, felt it pertinent that she put her own goals, wants and feelings first in any given situation. Anne understood the importance of putting her needs first. They were worthy of being met.





	Inhibitions

“You’re angry at me,” Ann spoke – it was not a question, either.

Anne turned to see her lover beginning to descend into a state of distress. Her lips quivered only slightly, but her eyes were glazed over with fresh, unshed tears. Anne, never meaning to cause the blonde such sorrow, felt her whole face soften. She strode across the carpeted bedroom, meeting Ann and deftly bringing both of her hands to caress Ann's cheeks. They cradled Ann’s younger features, her palms flat against either side of Ann’s face.

“No. No, Ann, not at all,” Anne attempted to reassure. She found herself ducking low just slightly, enough to be almost face to face with the slightly shorter Miss. Walker. “I’m not angry at you. I am angry for you.”

Anne analysed the grey-green eyes locked with her own, a thin veil of distrust and misbelief present – it was a look that Anne was quick becoming accustomed to, a look she’d rather not feel overly familiar with. The frequent to-ing and fro-ing first came from the younger woman, along with her fragile state of nerves. And now, as their relationship developed further, as Anne more successfully began to court the blonde and mould her closer to a companion that would suit her well, she found that she had increasingly been exploited to the blonde’s fits of low self-esteem.

Of course, there is always more than one way to look at any given situation. Anne was always one to analyse, to weigh the pros and cons, to find a happy middle ground of indifference that she could settle into comfortably. In this instance, surely the blonde’s ability to so easily and congruently express feelings wherein she was vulnerable and at the brunette’s mercy, surely that was a positive indication that their ever developing relationship was increasing in strength. Anne could not possibly imagine oneself in a situation wherein she felt comfortable expressing such raw emotion – she found even with family, she had inhibitions around allowing anyone to believe that she felt anything other than entirely alright.

Anne liked to think herself unbiased of any situation until she had thought through and processed it in its entirety. In this case, she found herself entering the situation entirely in a biased frame of reference. Really, logically, there was only one way to internalise the actions of one Reverend Ainsworth toward one Miss. Walker. She found the tempest brewing beneath her thinly veiled exterior of control and self-discipline told her all she needed to know about how to interpret such a situation. But she knew there was more to her anger, to her response to the blonde’s disclosure around her distress. There was more than just the absolute wrongness of Mr. Ainsworth’s actions.

Anne attempted to offer Ann one of her charming, wide smiles, showing all of her perfectly well kemp teeth and reducing the worry lines around her mouth and eyes. However, it seemed initially to do very little.

“What are you going to do with him?” Ann worried.

Anne felt her shoulders fall in deflation, knowing now that this was to become an entire topic of this evening’s conversation. It was clearly something that Ann would not let go off. And despite Anne’s own mind being occupied as to how to treat the inevitable arrival of Reverend Ainsworth, she found this was a topic that was likely to force her to show more of her true emotion than she deemed to be safe. Anne moved both of her hands from the blonde’s face to her shoulders, where she squeezed just gently.

“I told you that I have yet to decide,” Anne reminded. But the worry and distress present upon Ann’s face reduced little. “The fact is, that I am still a woman, an odd woman, in a man’s world. Really there are very few options that I have available to me in terms of handling this situation or warning him away.”

“Warning him away?”

Oh, the interrogation, Anne though. The older woman pulled back from the blonde, finding a sigh pass her lips before she had a chance to contain it. She rose to her normal intimidating stature, perfect posture, head tilted up just slightly, shoulders and back straight. She pulled her arms back, finding her thumb rubbing against her index finger as her hands rested mid-air, bent at the elbows. She found her eyes fell to the floor for a short moment, her eyes dancing across the carpet as she thought out a way to manoeuvre safely through the present conversation. 

“I can’t very well have him come here and feel righteous in his advances towards you,” Anne spoke, her tone harder and firmer than she would have liked. She knew that she had done a very flimsy job in supressing her anger to begin with, and she would likely pay for that now. “Walking in here like he owns the place,” Anne’s hand wafted in the room to emphasis the last few words. “Walking in here like he owns you,” she found her voice ended as more of a growl.

“But-.”

It now seemed too late to try and more securely bundle Anne’s anger. She found the line of questioning of this evening had punctured a hole too big in the guards she had surrounded her emotions with. It would come streaming out, like heavy water that had found a crack in the foundations of a dam. Once it started pouring, there would surely be no end.

“You can’t possibly expect me to react entirely soundly after confiding in me how Reverend Ainsworth took advantage of you?” Anne’s head tilted to the side, her eyes piercing. Though the look might initially look inquisitive, Ann knew better than to respond – it was meant as a hypothetical question, it was not one Anne expected to be answered. “To tell me that he connected with you,” Anne spoke with disgust. “Forced himself on you with his wife in the room next door. The vulgarity-.”

Anne stopped herself. She realised she had begun to pace restlessly. She found, usually, when anger enveloped her, that writing for an extended period in her many journals helped to calm her mind. In this instance, it was hardly an option. Alternatively, she would often sit in a room in her study or the main living space within Shipden and simply brood, the index finger of one hand resting against her lips – she found this a reflection of her struggling to contain the anger bubbling beneath the surface, a symbolic way of her attempting to keep her lips closed. She hardly thought that Ann would allow her to sit and think part way through discussing a topic that had clearly been resting on Ann’s mind.

“The thought of Reverend Ainsworth’s actions brings me great anger. The thought of how you must have felt, how you still feel concerning the situation now, brings me great strife. I can’t help but feel…” Anne brought one hand to her head, scratching her temple delicately. “I feel I have a duty to protect you from any unwarranted anxieties.”

Ann’s brow furrowed. Despite the fact it seemed the blonde had shrank away from Miss. Lister, a flicker of a very different emotion seemed to briefly flash across her features.

“Because of my fragile state?” The question was spoken with anger.

Anne waved her hand in the air in exasperation. “It’s no secret that you worry detrimentally and that your nerves pay the price for it,” the brunette snapped, initially feeling no remorse for her comment.

Of course, having lived her life fairly narcissistically, putting her own needs first, finding a situation wherein she felt the need to put someone else before herself had been causing her much conflict. It seemed to go against her own configurations of her own identity – not that she felt she was an uncaring or uncompassionate person. Anne felt she was a woman who held herself in good, healthy esteem and as such, felt it pertinent that she put her own goals, wants and feelings first in any given situation. Anne understood the importance of putting her needs first. They were worthy of being met.

She found that unusually, in this instance, remorse for speaking the truth began to cause a pit to open deep in her stomach. Anne shook her head left to right, bringing a hand up to cover the lower half of her face, her eyes lowered towards the floor.

“I didn’t mean-.”

“I think you know perfectly well what you meant,” Ann spat, even as her voice remained wavering and watery, a clear sign of her ever present distress. “I think you meant exactly as you spoke.”

“Ann,” Anne’s eyes softened and they danced across the blonde’s features as she looked on. “My dear…”

Ann turned away from Anne, facing the closed curtains of a window that overlooked one of many gardens surrounding the great building. She brought both hands to cover her face and tried desperately to swallow the lump forming within her throat.

“Oh, Anne,” Ann’s breath hitched in her throat. “I knew that you would eventually grow tired of me,” her voice caught. “I knew… I knew you’d grow bored, tired of this… Of me.” A sob racked the blonde’s petite form.

Ann seemed small standing in only her chemise, facing away, her shoulder’s hunched in a sign of deep sorrow. The older woman, staring at her lover’s distressed state, felt her heart strings pulled. Surely, in any other situation, with any other woman, her anger would have won over and she would have felt the fight not worth it. She would have slammed the door firmly as she left in defiance and stormed across the grounds, assuring herself she could find someone more suited and feeling indifferent of whether such a companionship worked successfully or not.

But not here. Not with Ann. That scared her and she knew it.

“Ann…” Anne walked softly forwards, pulling gently at the blonde’s hips and urging her to turn.

As she turned, the older woman noticed that Ann’s hands still covered her beautifully delicate features. She ached to look into those eyes, to reassure her lover that there was nothing to be so upset about. Anne had never been a liar, never one to deceive, and perhaps, despite knowing that disclosing her own feelings about Ann would leave her vulnerable – a state Ann was hardly familiar with – honesty would be the most effective and the best course of action. Anne reached up, taking one of Ann’s hands in her own and bringing it swiftly to her lips.

The older woman placed a chaste kiss first against the palm of Ann’s hand, then moved to kiss each of the blonde’s round fingertips, and then the pulse point of her wrist. She turned Ann’s hand over and placed a tender, lingering kiss against the back. She watched as Ann’s other hand fell freely from her face, moving to lay limply against her side. Though Ann’s eyes still remained reddened from previously shed tears, there was no new layer of water present on them. A good sign, no doubt.

“Ann, I find that I hold a great deal of care for you,” Anne started. “I lied when I told you that you were the only woman with which I had connected, though I only did so because you were upset, and it seemed the only option I could conjure that would settle you,” an excuse, it sounded to Anne’s ears. “But, I find this care that I have for you…” the brunette found herself restlessly playing with Ann’s fingers.

Ann completely disregarded the lie which Anne had admitted to her. Whilst Ann was aware of her own naivety, she had known the first moment that Anne had ever touched her intimately that she was not the first and only woman she’d had such relations with. There were also rumours and talk about Halifax in regards to Miss. Lister. Whilst Ann ignored most of them, it made sense that perhaps Anne had partook in such activities on previous occasions, being there was little hesitancy about how to proceed in the bedroom and the speed at which Anne had swept Miss. Walker quite literally off of her feet. Ann dismissed the lie, knowing in her mind it had been such before this moment. However, something else caught her attention.

“I told you on one occasion that I loved you,” Ann spoke.

“Yes,” Anne nodded her head eagerly, a small frown of annoyance bending her brows – annoyance at being interrupted as she tried to gather her thoughts. “As I was saying, I hold a great deal of care for you. And whilst on other occasions, my anger would be pertinent beyond anything else, I find that with you-.”

“You never said it back,” Ann reminded.

“No,” Anne’s tone was harder, her brows furrowing deeper. “Anyway,” Anne blinked and licked her bottom lip as she attempted to pick up where she had previously left off. “I find that with you, with us, my anger does not feel like second nature, as it has previously. I find that-.”

“You feel, care, for me.”

Anne stuttered. “I am getting there if let me finish my thoughts,” the brunette was beginning to sound rather breathless, flustered at not having her thoughts as ordered as she liked to have them. “I find that, when we have conflict,” the older woman’s thumb was rubbing restlessly against the palm of Ann’s hand, Anne’s eyes completely fixed by the motion and avoiding eye contact with the blonde stood in front of her. “There is a-.”

“Is it not perhaps apparent to you that you might love me as deeply as I love you?” Ann interrupted.

A silence fell between them. Anne initially opened her mouth and took in a breath to speak, and found that she wasn’t entirely sure what to say – what a day this was turning out to be – and closed her mouth again. She pulled back slightly, still avoiding eye contact, and now finding her breath much harder to catch. She released Ann’s hands and brought one of her own to her chest, where there lay an unfamiliar fluttering.

“Ah. Oh dear,” Anne spoke to herself. “I find that I…” The brunette shook her head left to right. Her head turned to left, her eyes fixed on the far wall. “I never quite expected myself to fall for you in such a manner so soon. Nor, really, ever,” she muttered to herself.

“Anne, you’re mumbling,” Ann spoke. And thank God, Anne thought.

Anne took a step closer to Ann, taking both of the blonde’s hands gently in her own and holding them to her chest. She locked eyes with those staring back at her, and flashed her usual charming smile – more to reassure herself than her lover. 

“I have…” Anne briefly let go of one of her hands and wafted it into the air as she sought the correct word given the context. “Inhibitions,” she found, bringing her hand back to Ann’s. “About the use of the word…”

Anne trailed off, her mouth hanging open just slightly, her brows furrowed in concern as Ann lifted one of her hands to press her finger against the brunette’s lips, essentially silencing her. That hand then took Anne’s right, pulling it toward her and guiding it. Ann lead their entwined fingers down towards her legs, sliding them up along the length of her thigh and then to the bare apex between. Anne found that she could not even fathom to blink – such a bold move from a woman whom she had not given such credit to.

“Ann.”

“You love me, no?” she guided Anne’s hand to press firmly at the space between her legs.

Anne once again found herself at a loss for words. If not because of the blonde’s unusually bold actions, because of the wetness her fingers found as they slid between the younger woman’s folds. She heard, and felt, Ann’s breathy moan against her lips. Her eyes finally pulled away from where their entwined hands lay, Ann’s chemise bunched around their wrists, to look at her face. Whilst there was a clear blush turning the blonde’s usually fair cheeks a deep burgundy, a reflection of her own inhibitions about being rather so bold, Ann did have the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, biting down just gently against it. It was a habit that Anne was quick learning meant that her lover was feeling quite content and coy.

“I could perhaps be persuaded…”

Ann pulled her hands from both of Anne’s and brought them to rest on the front of Anne’s shoulders, closing the very minute gap between them to bring her lips to Anne’s. It caught Anne primarily by surprise, her eyes remaining open at the first touch of the younger woman’s mouth upon her own. But Anne craved the contact; following the realisation that Ann was already feeling more than just a little excited, the brunette found that a low stirring had begun low in her stomach.

Anne pulled her hand from between the blonde’s legs, moving both of them to gently cradle Anne’s face, urging her to tilt her head just slightly as the kiss ensued. It allowed their lips to glide against one another’s smoothly and Anne appreciated the juxtaposition between the plumpness of the younger woman’s bottom lip and the thin line of her top. Their kisses were always sweet, even when carnal desire gave way to tenderness, but never disordered.

Anne found herself stepping forward, her taller lithe form meaning that Ann was very easily bent to her will. With each step forward, Ann compensated by taking a step in reverse. They closed the distance between where they had begun their embrace and the heavy oak drawers against the wall quickly, and soon Ann felt the cold, steel handle of the draws press against the back of her thighs. The brunette, ever eager to use each and every advantage to herself when possible, urged Ann to seat herself upon the set of drawers.

Ann willingly parted her legs as she did so, allowing Anne to step between them.

Anne’s lips smoothly moved from their connection with Ann’s to follow the line of Ann’s jaw. She reached the younger woman’s earlobe, pulling the flesh into her mouth and enveloping her tongue around it, before releasing and doubling her efforts on the sensitive skin laying beneath Ann’s ear.

Ann couldn’t help the breathy moan that rose from her lips, nor the way her hips canted upwards to press against the brunette’s pubic bone, seeking friction. Anne knew this too, knew from the heat emitted from the blonde’s fair skin, the moaning, the slight shiver frequently causing the muscles beneath Ann’s skin to hum, that Ann was needing more. Anne felt more than enthusiastic to oblige. 

Even with the wanton need to feel Anne against her, the excitement as she felt slender fingers slip beneath her chemise and reach for the space between her legs, Ann was still not entirely satisfied with the way their conversation had ended.

“Anne,” it was little more than a whimper.

Anne pulled back to allow herself to have full view of Ann’s face. The brunette was never one to forego an opportunity to watch a woman come undone. There was something fascinating about the unbashful symphony of sounds and the expressions that changed one’s face when they reached a particular precipice. The older woman’s free hand came to rest against the column of Ann’s throat, resting there gently, her thumb brushing against the smooth expanse of skin. A low sound, somewhere between a content hum and a groan, was felt beneath Anne’s palm as Ann responded.

“Tell me you love me. Do you not?” Ann enquired, her cheeks flushed, already beginning to pant. “Do you not love me?”

Anne’s fingers stroked deftly beneath golden curls, capturing the younger woman’s clit between two fingers and squeezing only gently, rolling the bundle of nerves between them. It was enough to cause Ann to cry out, for her leg to kick out without any of the blonde’s control. Her hands released their grip of Ann and instead clambered to reach behind her, to splay against the cool, smooth surface of the wooden dresser to ensure she maintained her balance whilst opening herself up to Anne further.

“You cannot say that you do not enjoy what it is you do to me,” Ann ventured further, even as Anne manoeuvred to lean over the blonde, offering her more leverage, more room to move her wrists and fingers.

“Hardly,” Anne responded, her eyes gazing into Ann’s even as her fingers busied themselves with manipulating the blonde’s most sensitive parts. “You have no idea the pleasure I reap from such moments with you,” it was nothing more than a whisper, Anne noticing that she was almost close to a pant herself; though not with exertion – only arousal.

“Then you love how we are together, surely,” Ann gasped as she felt a slender finger slide against her clit and then slip between the folds of her more intimate opening, feeling the length first probe before confidently sliding in.

Anne’s tongue drew itself along the length of Ann’s bottom lip, their foreheads moving to almost rest against one another’s.

“How could one possibly feel anything but the sustenance of love for the way in which we are together,” Anne told, half-heartedly convincing herself that her words were meant only to serenade the younger woman, that there was no real truth or conviction behind them.

As Anne’s finger began its rhythm, thrusting inside with its entire length before pulling out to the tip, Ann found her hips rocking with the thrusts. There was a fire burning low in her stomach, a fire that Miss. Lister had surely set. But it was also a fire that Anne, and only Anne, could ever put out. The space between her legs ached for the feel of the older woman inside and she was grateful as the pace increased.

“Then, if you love us-.” Ann groaned part way through her thoughts, her head rolling back onto her shoulders as the brunette’s thumb found her clit and pressed firmly. 

Ann knew her cheeks would be a scarlet red, along with the column of her throat and her chest. She could feel the sweat along the length of her spine already, feel the delicate material of the chemise fixing itself to her skin. She could, in fact, feel the heat of her skin. Surely burning close to the temperature one would imagine the surface of the sun, she could feel the temperature of her skin burning against the crisp material of the chemise.

But Ann was determined. Her hands moved from their braced place against the wooden surface of the dresser. One moved to flatten against the back of the brunette’s neck, bringing their foreheads together, the other wrapped itself around Anne, the fingers fisting into the fabric of the brunette’s nightshirt.

“If you love the companionship which we have,” her breath panted against Anne’s lips, her eyes rolling upwards to meet the older woman’s dark eyes. “Then you must love me.”

“I…”

“Anne,” Ann groaned, her hips momentarily jumping as she felt the brunette’s fingertips stroke over a delicate spot inside of her. “Anne…” this came as a pleasurable moan, one that caused a hard contraction in Anne’s abdomen.

Anne could feel her own cheeks flush as she took in the symphony of sounds pouring from her lover’s pleasantly soft lips. In fact, she could feel the heat of her own skin beginning to become hot to the touch. Oh, what this woman did to her. And surely, the game of seduction was up; whilst Anne did not ever perceive Ann to be just naive, she had perhaps underestimated her ability to so quickly and correctly analyse the situation, to see beneath Anne’s almost immaculately worn façade.

Before Ann had told her that she loved her, the older woman remembered telling the blonde that she felt Ann was a little bit in love with her. What she should have said, the truth, was that Anne herself felt she was a little bit in love with the younger woman. Perhaps even more than just a little bit. A little bit would hardly be significant and this would not suffice to describe the yearning and pining she felt spending more than a day or two away from Ann.

“You must,” Ann breathed, her eyes now fluttering shut as she felt an uncurling begin low in her abdomen, felt her nerve endings begin to hum and chatter.

“I do,” Anne whispered, leaning in to nibble the blonde’s bottom lip. “I do. I love you.”

And whether it was the words spoken, or the feel of the brunette’s thumb sliding across her swollen and pulsating nub, or perhaps a combination of both, Ann keened. Her hips jittered against the desk, her fingernails gripping the older woman’s nightshirt with force. Anne continued, encouraged by the finding of Ann’s release, stroking her fingers between the younger woman’s legs as she drew out each and every spasm, each spark of pleasurable excitement. Until, finally, Ann half-heartedly pushed the brunette away, almost laying flat against the desk, spent.

“Anne,” Ann tried her hardest to sit up and was only successful with the aid of the older woman’s more toned biceps. 

The younger woman pressed her forehead against the front of Anne’s shoulder, relaxing into the touch of the brunette; Anne's fingertips gently ran through the soft, golden curls resting against the blonde’s back.

“I think,” Anne lifted the younger woman’s chin by smoothly placing two of her own fingers beneath. She brought Ann’s gaze to her own. “I think that perhaps, against my better-,” she almost said judgement, but judgement was far from correct. “Against my better instincts, you are right,” Anne’s thumb ran smoothly across Ann’s bottom lip. “I have fallen irrevocably in love with you, Ann Walker, and I love you dearly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gentleman Jack has for sure stolen my heart! And I've a feeling my muse will stay alive and dancing for some time. Let me know what you think in the comments section (being it's my first Gentleman Jack fic), and if you like, let me know of any prompts/ideas you might have.
> 
> Most of all, thank-you for reading!


End file.
